


tears

by soulshrapnel



Series: Villainous Kinktober fills 2020 [12]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: BDSM, Dacryphilia, Electrical Play, F/M, pain play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-12
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:14:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26974258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soulshrapnel/pseuds/soulshrapnel
Summary: Daala knew what to do about that, of course. She was as capable as anyone of going to her quarters with some sad music, in her off hours, and having a good cry.But it was more fun when Tarkin did it for her.(Kinktober, Day 12: Dacryphilia)
Relationships: Natasi Daala/Wilhuff Tarkin
Series: Villainous Kinktober fills 2020 [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1947379
Kudos: 11
Collections: Kinktober 2020





	tears

**Author's Note:**

> This is some pretty heavy kink and I embarrassed myself writing it!
> 
> (Though I also thought the prompt was a bit of a gimme, since I've already mentioned in like several different stories that they're into this, so all I had to do was just... write it down in more detail. I was like "Maybe that's lazy, maybe I should pick a different pairing" but then I remembered that it's Kinktober so nah.)
> 
> I'm picturing this as a younger Daala than in some of my other stories about her, but by "younger" I mean like, early-mid twenties, before she went to the Maw.

Sometimes it was all too much. Admiral Daala had learned to keep an immobile sabacc face through anything: insults from other officers, military casualties to her own side, missions so perilous and fraught that she feared she would never come back. But it was possible to learn a skill too well. Sometimes she stared in the mirror and tried to remember what it felt like to relax her face enough that honest feelings showed through. Sometimes the stress built up until she could feel it physically, a knot in the middle of her ribcage, and it wouldn't leave her.

Daala knew what to do about that, of course. She was as capable as anyone of going to her quarters with some sad music, in her off hours, and having a good cry.

But it was more fun when Tarkin did it for her.

The mission she'd just come back from had been a bad one. Her side had won, but at great cost. And when she'd returned she'd made a beeline, with Tarkin's permission, straight for his quarters. He understood her needs.

He stood over her now, with a shock stick, as she sprawled naked and cuffed to his bed. He waited for her to stop trembling, from the most recent shock, enough to regain her voice.

Tarkin only used the shock stick when he was feeling particularly cruel. Daala halfway hated it. But she liked the way Tarkin stood with it: she felt so intensely aware of his presence, so attuned to every little shift in his stance.

"Surely that's not all you can take," Tarkin said.

"No, sir," she choked out.

It was more fun for both of them when she resisted a little. If she'd wanted to bring the tears out by the easiest route, she'd have gone to her own quarters and taken out the sad music. But it felt better, went deeper, when she was made to do it. When she lay there as stoic and strong as she could be, and allowed him to break her.

Tarkin made a _hm_ noise, and lowered the stick toward her thigh. She flinched, instinctively squirming away, though the cuffs didn't let her get far. He stopped at the last second anyway; it had been a feint.

As soon as she let go of the flinch and relaxed slightly, he slapped the stick down in another direction. It connected with her other thigh before she had time to react, and she groaned, her whole body twitching. Her leg spasmed as blue current danced across it, as she tried to take deep, centering breaths but to no avail. Had she said she halfway hated the shock stick? Daala _really_ hated the shock stick.

"Asshole," she muttered, panting, as he withdrew.

Tarkin gave her an amused look. He had played long enough with Daala to have a sense of her tolerances. "I'm sorry, was that you saying you wanted a higher setting?"

Her eyes widened, and she struggled against her bonds as he clicked the stick's settings up one notch and leaned back in. "No. It was not. _No,_ sir-"

But they both knew that wasn't her safeword.

This time it was blue and audibly sizzling even before it met her skin. She made a very undignified noise through her teeth, and she clenched her jaw so hard that it hurt there, too.

"Then you'll call me by my proper title," he said, unruffled, and held it there.

She couldn't even open her mouth to answer. This wasn't _fair._ And somehow the unfairness was what did it; she felt a sob tear its way out of her throat, and something trickled from her eye.

Tarkin withdrew.

She lay there, shaking, beginning to cry in earnest. This part of it felt good, at least, the way a good cry always did, like a weight being lifted away.

"You're crying already?" he asked drily, and she knew that, however scornfully he phrased it, he was pleased with her. They had done this sort of thing many times; they had their little codes.

She nodded, tears blurring her vision.

He shook his head. " _That_ wasn't enough." And he brought the stick down and shocked her again. This time she didn't even have a word for the sound she made, a sob that was halfway a scream.

She lay there after the pain ended, crying so hard it seemed to wrench itself out from as deep down as her stomach. There was nothing pretty about crying like this, nothing dignified. Only _need._

There was a click as Tarkin set the shock stick down.

When he touched her again his hands were warm and dry, steadying her. He pulled her upright, and she leaned in, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder. "There," he said, as if she'd gotten something right. It wasn't an easy thing for Tarkin to give comfort, but he made the effort with her, because he wanted all the rest of this enough. "Let that all out."

He was everything to her. Daala's very self was what Tarkin had taught her to be. She couldn't picture trusting anyone else this way, crying in front of anyone else, even if Tarkin died one day and she fell in love again. It was unimaginable.

It felt like a long time before the pressure in her eased, before the sobs ebbed away into something softer, and her breath steadied, and the tears stopped.

She sniffed, drew away, and wiped her eyes. She felt better now. A little addled, but better. "Thank you, sir."

He caught her hand before she could do much with it. Tarkin liked the tears to stay on her face for a while. He drew her closer again and breathed in the salt scent of them. "And where do you think you're going?"

Daala smiled. She knew exactly where.


End file.
